Mind Palace
by Blackstar-Moonshadow
Summary: 221b was harbouring a deep and annoyed silence. John was sulking. Sherlock was confused, he just didn't understand why. Why on earth was John in a bad mood anyway? John is jelaus of Irenes place in Sherlocks Mind palace, the thing is, he really shouldn't be.


Mind palace

221b was harbouring a deep and annoyed silence.

John was sulking.

Sherlock was confused, he just didn't understand why.

Why on earth was John in a bad mood anyway?

Later, much later unfortunately, he realized that it was because of the Adler Woman.

Because he wrote a song for her.

Because he missed her.

Because he liked to have someone that understood how his mind worked besides his infuriating brother and he knew that John could see that he did like it.

Because Adler, Irene Adler, The Woman, had a place in his mind palace.

But John didn't see.

Sherlock had written more than a dozen songs for John.

There was the "I miss you" that he played when John was away.

The "I'm sorry" that he composed after Baskerville and presented with a cup of tea to Johns surprise and he had played it ever since if John had got mad at him for some experiment.

The "She's not worthy of you" that he played when John was leaving for dinner with a new girlfriend or when she had just dumped him.

The kind "make me tea?" that he played on long nights at home or when John came home after working overtime at the surgery.

There was the "Don't leave me, I need you" that he only ever played when they had been arguing and he didn't know how to apologize.

The "I'm bored John" was the one that John complained most about with its screeching tones in the middle of the night.

The "I'm so happy because of you" that he would play after finished cases when he didn't know how to tell John how happy he was.

The "be safe" that he played when John was leaving the apartment for some reason

The "Where are you?" that he would play with "I miss you" when John would be somewhere out late, on a bar, with a girlfriend or working overtime, not answering his phone when Sherlock didn't want to admit that he was worried for his flat mate and best friend.

The "I am so lucky to have you" and all the others that was made for John and John alone.

And there was the "my friend" that Sherlock played at all times of the day and night just to express his happiness and surprise at it all.

Because he was never going to get used to having someone like John.

John understood Sherlock better than anyone else had ever done before.

And it was true, he was happy beyond words to have someone around him who didn't yell freak after him time and again.

But it wasn't just that.

He had told the truth. He didn't have friends. Just one.

John understood him and he understood John. On cold nights when he was bored was it John that kept him in place, kept him on earth so to say. When John had nightmares was it in the living room with Sherlock and tea that John sought comfort. They could exchange more in a glance than some people exchanged in hours and they always understood each other fully.

John had been jealous of Irene's place in his mind palace.

Irene had a room of her own.

A small little closet right next to the large striped room labeled "things Mycroft hates" and just a bit behind and to the left of "mandarin Chinese grammar".

John really shouldn't be jealous.

There was a huge room, all big and nice, wooden oak double doors as main entrance and there where doors that lead to the room from many other rooms, tunnels, hidden entries and secret passages was all over the palace that lead to the room, and inside shelves after shelves after shelves with information, but also in the middle of the room against the back wall two armchairs and a fireplace.

The room, was labeled John.

He didn't have friends, just one. Except John was so much more than a friend for him.

And he would willingly give his own life trying to save Johns.

So faking his death to ensure Johns safety, no problem.

Except.

He'd have to be apart from John.

The entire time.

Without contact.

He was alone

Scared

lost

confused

furious

sad

lonely

and worried.

Worried that John would get hurt.

Worried that John would get so depressed he harmed himself.

Worried (and he was more than a bit ashamed about this part) that John would not care at all.

Most of all he missed John as if half of him had been burned to ashes, as if his heart had been carved out with a spoon, as if he really had fallen and broke his body on that pavement that horrible, horrible day.

And he feared that John didn't miss him because, really, why would he?

Why would John ever miss him?

He usually deleted everything that he could not consider of use to him.

However he knew that he could never and would never erase anything about John.

He didn't dare to let go of anything that was about John and he had discovered that the room named John had grown and was now his only safe haven. It was baker street.

Therefore he found himself outside of the apartment, picking the lock, (John had changed the locks) and walking in on a John who was sitting in a cold and empty apartment staring into space, curled up, not in Johns own but in his armchair.

"I am sorry John" he said softly. John answered by punching him in the face. John was greatly relieved when Sherlock turned out to be very solid flesh and bone and the chock made him freeze for a moment.

"I am sorry for making you upset." Another punch was thrown at him and hit him over the ribs; a third was firmly placed in his stomach making him stumble backwards a few steps. John backed down a few steps retreating while giving Sherlock one of the looks that Sherlock hated so much. Disappointment, anger, pain, grief and hate.

"I am sorry John. I just have to do this before I get mad from it. I know that your fiancé has just left you and that you are probably heartbroken and pissed at her." He didn't dare to hope for John to have anything at all to say to him and he knew that now when he had gathered strength for this long would he have to say everything at once, he wouldn't be able to go back and face John again for whatever that John felt for him was it for sure nothing even remotely positive and John was bound to never want to see him again and so he took the opportunity of speaking while John remained a hateful quiet. "But I can't live without telling you something." Sherlock took a step towards John and took Johns hands in his. Then he placed a thin metal chain in Johns hand. On it was three small keys.

"I just wanted to tell you that these are yours. This", he said and picked up the worn and tainted metal key with spots of rust and wear that at places showed signs of the original colour of the steel, "is the key to my life, my future, my past, my present." Then he picked up the silvery key with the marble handle. "This is the key to my mind palace. All that I am, all that I treasure within my mind, all that I am proud of, and all that I am ashamed of, all of it is yours." "And this," he said and picked up the delicate golden key in the middle, "is the key to my heart. All three are yours. They always where John."

He really shouldn't have been that surprised when Johns instincts got the better of him and he flung his arms around Sherlock and kissed him passionately.


End file.
